


the way I feel when I'm in your hands

by janie_tangerine



Category: Bastille Day (2016)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Manhandling, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-27 13:57:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7621036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in which Michael decides that he likes his new CIA job very, very much.</p><p>It comes with perks, after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the way I feel when I'm in your hands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FeatheredShadow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeatheredShadow/gifts).



> So. I watched this movie. I liked it a lot. I decided that this ship deserved all the porn in the world and that they lent itself to it a LOT. I got prompted on tumblr for _all the porn post-mission_ and I figured it'd be my test drive since I kinda want to write them a way longer one but I needed to try the characters out. Also, no one convinces me that these two haven't hooked up post-movie. No one. ;)
> 
> Premise: I sadly only have seen this movie dubbed and from what it seems I won't be able to watch it in English until the dvd comes out so I just hope the dialogue is good - I've been told it's not off but still I figured I'd warn. Other than that: these two don't belong to me, the title is from Because the Night whichever version you'd prefer and I'll just drop my porn here and leave.

Thing is: working for the CIA is _not_  that different from, well, professionally stealing.

Well, no, all right, it _is_ , but what Michael is fishing at here, is that he spent half of his life stealing for a living for a lot of reasons. It was a good outlet for pent-up anger, for needing to burn up likewise pent-up adrenaline, to feel in control of his life albeit for fucked up reasons, and mostly, getting away with it was a hell of a satisfaction. The fact that it was illegal, well, that was a minor inconvenient.

Now, the thing about the CIA is that working for them is, likewise, an excellent outlet for both pent-up anger and adrenaline, especially the latter. While it might not make you feel much in control, especially when you have a _handler_  specifically assigned to you, the job consists in basically doing a lot of illegal shit without legal repercussions, which means that he doesn’t even have to feel too guilty about it.

On top of that, given that his handler is _Briar_  and Briar is a reckless bastard whose instinct of self-preservation is way lower than Michael’s, at least he doesn’t feel like _he’_ s the unhinged one out of the two of them most of the time, which is an admittedly nice feeling. And he’s _not_  washing cars, for one, which means that Michael can definitely live with his new line of work.

But what he likes best about it is, admittedly, _not_  the actual work.

It’s what happens _after_.

Admittedly, what happens after _now_  is the result of some good old-fashioned trial and error, a lot of it for that matter, but he could have done worse.

He definitely could have.

Take _this_  mission.

(Good thing that they weren’t recalled back to the States - Michael quite likes France, thank you very much. Briar is learning to like it, or so it seems.)

He’s fairly sure that at least one of the five possible so-called threats to security they had to bring in has to thank him for not being in the ER right now, Briar had definitely been about to shoot him in the leg before Micheal somehow managed to convince him that knocking the guy out was more than sufficient.

(Six months ago, he wouldn’t have managed that easily. Michael almost hopes that they stop with the whole handler charade at some point soon.)

Debrief has gone fairly decently - at least there’s just some property damage to deal with this time.

 _Now_ , they’re in the elevator heading for the lower floor.

“The heating’s broken at my place,” Michael says.

“Why are you still living in that fucking dump, again?” Briar asks, not that he doesn’t know the answer.

(Micheal knows that technically he’s named _Sean_  but Briar never actually _told_  him and Michael’s brain decided that he’s only ever going to refer to him by his proper name when Briar tells him himself. Michael doesn’t even pretend to understand himself most of the time, at this point.)

“I _like_  my fucking dump,” Michael retorts.

“Whatever. We’re going to mine,” Briar sighs, failing to sound as resigned as he wants to sound.

Yeah, resigned, _his ass_. No way he’s resigned.

Briar has a nice apartment in Monmartre, not that he lives in there much.

(Michael thinks Briar’s an idiot, why wouldn’t you spend time in a _nice apartment in Monmartre_? Briar’s obviously not been outside the States long enough. Hopefully it shall be rectified soon.)

He also doesn’t live in the attic, which is a good thing, because it only takes them five minutes to arrive at the second floor.

Micheal has barely kicked the door closed and dropped his jacket on a chair when hands go to his wrists and he finds himself pretty much pinned against the wall, Briar moving up against him at once, a  _look_  on his face that really never fails to make Michael’s knees falter.

“Wow,” he breathes out, moving so that there’s virtually no space between them, “that bad, huh? Not even offering me a drink before?”

The hold around his wrists becomes tighter. “I didn’t think you were looking for _manners_  here.”

“With _you_ , I wouldn’t expect any,” Michael agrees, and maybe he cants his hips forward, but hey, it makes Briar groan out loud and he’ll take whichever victory he can get.

“ _Maybe_ ,” Briar says, sounding as if he’s considering the matter very seriously, “you might get one later. If you earn it.”

“I’m amenable,” Michael replies, taking care to keep his tone as agreeable as he can. Mostly because if he knows Briar half as well as he thinks he does after all this time -

He’s waiting for it when Briar crushes his mouth against Michael’s and lets his wrists go as his hands move downwards and - at the beginning Michael wasn’t really adjusted to how _easily_  Briar could grab under his thighs and hold him upwards but now he does, and when Briar pretty much bodily lifts him off the ground and hurries for the bedroom, he just grabs at his shoulders and waits for the moment he’s not so ceremoniously thrown over Briar’s bed - he’s adjusted to that, too. When they stop kissing, he can feel that his lower lip might be bleeding just slightly but that’s fine, he likes it like that, he _loves_  it like that, actually -

 _Actually_ , there’s a certain relief in having Briar handle things in the first place.

“Good to know you’re _amenable_ ,” Briar breathes out, moving the two of them so that Michael has his back to the wall - he pins Michael’s wrists against the headboard again, and fuck, listen, it’s _hot_  that if Briar puts effort into it he really would have issues getting out of that hold. Not that Michael’s trying.

“Now,” he says, slowly, “if I let you go, can you keep your hands right there or you’d feel like stealing my fucking wallet anyway?”

“I can keep them there,” Michael says, “with enough motivation. Besides - _ah_ ,” he stops as Briar squeezes at his wrists. “ _Besides_ , I know you don’t keep your money in it anymore.”

Briar snorts. “Maybe I don’t. _Don’t move_  those hands,” he says, letting his wrists go. They hurt a tiny bit. Michael entirely does not mind.

He keeps his hands still.

Briar waits some twenty seconds, then nods and his fingers go at Michael’s belt, opening it up, and Michael doesn’t move an inch - and fact is, while he _wants_  to rile Briar up as much as he can get away with, he also _doesn’t want_  to move.

Not really.

“Huh,” Briar says as he drops the belt on the ground, “guess you weren’t lying.” His hands are working Michael’s jeans open now, still excruciatingly slow, but it’s fine. He can wait.

“I said I was amenable, didn’t I?”

“Guess you did,” Briar agrees, and then proceeds on moving up on his knees and taking off his shirt. Slowly. Briar is such a bastard - he knows that it’s only human to be tempted to touch when he takes off that not-so-pristine-anymore white shirt that he’s wearing to reveal a not so smooth expanse of dark skin underneath - he has a fair amount of scars over there and one day Michael will know about most of them, he has a resolution, but for now -

For now he keeps his mouth shut and doesn’t touch even if fuck, he  _wants_ to.

“Let’s say that you don’t move at all,” Briar says, and he _sounds_  calm but there’s maybe a hint of excitement in his voice that he just can’t seem to contain. “Let’s say that you earn that drink if you keep those damned hands to yourself whatever I do in the next, well, thirty minutes or so. Let’s say that I _really_  want to see if you can manage it,” he says, and his palm moves over Michael’s crotch - he has to jerk upwards at the contact, he’s half-hard already. “What do you say?”

As if there was another answer, Micheal thinks as he tries to grin as nonchalantly as possible - it probably won’t work.

“I say I’m really thirsty.”

“Well, _then_ ,” Briar starts, and never finishes, but instead he wraps his hand around Michael’s half-hard cock and starts stroking slowly but efficiently, in a way that _really_  drives him half-crazy because Briar’s hands are rough in ways his own aren’t and he has long lovely fingers that seem made for this, and Michael has to  _really_  concentrate to keep himself still, but see -

“ _Nice_ ,” Briar mutters after he’s gone at it long enough and Michael’s really past half-interested and well into the realm of beyond-interested, “guess you weren’t lying before about being _amenable_.” He picks up the pace just a bit, leaning forwards so they can kiss again even if the angle makes it a bit more awkward, and good thing because kissing is distracting, and Briar likes to pretend he doesn’t do slow and nice kissing but he _can_  do that and Michael knows he will do that more than Briar cares to admit. Then when he moves away and takes away his hand he feels  _how_  hard exactly he is and damn, one would have thought that after six months it’d take him a lot more to get _this_  excited over ten minutes of the man’s time spent jerking him off.

Instead -

Instead it doesn’t and Briar smirks as he moves back and takes Michael’s jeans and underwear off completely, throwing them in the corner.

“Okay,” he says, looking down with the face of a satisfied man, “let’s see how do you like my plan.”

“You have a plan?”

“Hm, I might. I might not have money in my wallet,” Briar says, “but I have condoms. You manage to get one out without me noticing, I  _use_  it. And if you come when I say you should, you get decent alcohol  _and_  nice manners coming with it.”

Of course. The bastard finds it _hot_ , not that Michael minds using his talents like this.

“Deal,” he breathes out.

He’s expecting Briar’s mouth to cover his own a moment later, and good thing that he _knows_  Briar keeps his wallet in the back pocket of his trousers now. And he’s stolen things in worse conditions than being hard as a rock and being kissed within an inch of his life - he has, and it’s really nothing in comparison to a few tricks he pulled, so -

He only moves his left hand, Briar keeps it on the left side. He bites down on Briar’s tongue when it looks like he might be leaning back, dragging him for another kiss, and _another_ , as his fingers skim over Briar’s admittedly very, very nice ass, until he feels the damned wallet.

And good thing he doesn’t need two hands to do this.

He only breaks the kiss when the wallet’s back in its place and he has the condom in between his fingers - he brings his hand upwards again and places it where it was before.

“Damn it,” Briar says, snagging it. “To think that I always think I’m ready for it.”

“Guess you need practice,” Michael suggests.

“Yeah, _maybe_ ,” Briar sort of maybe agrees, and then breaks off the plastic.

Fact is: Michael hadn’t maybe appreciated the bruise that gun shot left him back at the end of their first mission, but _now_  -

Whenever Briar’s fingers dig into his hips hard enough to leave bruises, he _loves_  it. It’s not the same kind. It’s not, and he’s not above moaning shamelessly as Briar grabs from lube from the nightstand’s drawer and pushes a couple of fingers inside him without that much ceremony, and he’s not above moaning  _harder_  when both of Briar’s hands are grabbing at his hips and holding him steady as he _finally_  goes for it and pushes inside and  _damn_  but whenever he thrusts in deep he can only mutter _yes_  and  _please_  and _harder_ , and Briar might be a bastard but he’s a bastard who complies when he promises something.

Also, Michael means to do this seriously, which is why he manages to keep himself together fairly long even if he just wants to reach down and touch himself -

But he won’t. Not until Briar’s mouth is trailing kisses over his chest and not until Briar _says_  so, because damn but while he knows maybe he shouldn’t -

“I think you _can_  go for it,” Briar smirks a moment later, and he looks very much pleased with how this is going and that’s it - Michael’s coming not long later, not exactly giving a fuck about how embarrassing it is that it took barely thirty seconds from the moment he was told to, and then Briar just gives one last, deep push and Michael can feel him shaking over him, and he’d move his hands -

But he can’t, can he, and then for a moment neither of them moves. Then Briar does, _slightly_ , not entirely, his hand going at the back of Michael’s head and carding through the hair at the back of it, and fuck but _that_  feels good, and Michael knows already that it’d be a long time before he actually drinks any alcohol.

Not that he minds.

Not, because -

“Fuck me,” Briar says under his breath, “that was impressive. I imagine you don’t want that drink just _now_. Or do you?”

“No,” Michael confirms, “but maybe later?”

“Later,” Briar confirms, his other hand grabbing at his wrists and dragging them downwards - good, he can let go. “Damn, you really did not move them all that time.” He starts massaging at his palm, and it didn’t even hurt that much while he was keeping them still, but damn if that’s not complete relief.

“You said not to,” Michael blurts, and maybe he’s dangerously getting closer to that headspace where his brain to mouth filter completely disappears.

“Well,” Briar agrees, his thumbs massaging Michael’s wrists, “good. Half an hour and I’ll show youthat there we get taught good manners where I come from.”

“Can’t wait,” Michael agrees, aware that his voice is slurring, but it’s no matter. In half an hour it won’t, and in half an hour he’ll have the good kind of drink, and maybe he’ll convince Briar that after three days running on caffeine they should just sleep some, but for now he just doesn’t say anything else as he relishes the feeling coming back to his arms and in how warm Briar’s hands are when they move to grab at the back of his neck and his hip and hold him steady right there, and for the next thirty minutes he won’t have to worry about anything other than lying there and letting Briar take care of it.

(And _him_ , but he’s not going to state that out loud for anyone to hear for a hell of a long time.)

Yes, Michael thinks, maybe working for the CIA is not technically that different from what he did before -

But fuck, with these perks? Working for the CIA it’s a _hell_  of a lot better.

 

End,


End file.
